The first time he visited, the station had been a chaotic mess; now it had descended into outright madness. Clay noticed the same guards as last time, though the assault rifles were now replaced with standard sidearm plasers. Rather than stoic and statuesque, they were now frantically scrutinizing and questioning everyone who departed the shuttle, showing each a holo and asking the same questions.
“Have you seen this man? Possibly a passenger on your shuttle?” the guard asked Clay, showing him a holo of a man with a full head of curly, snow-white hair, a square jaw, and a thin scar down the left side of his face.
Clay regarded the photo and shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so. Who is he?”
“His name is Halferne. He’s a former enforcer for Chancellor Prevo. We believe he’s attempting to defect,” the guard said earnestly. Clay turned to look at Halferne behind him — short, balding, with thin gray hair — and did his best not to smile. “Your ID, please?” the guard prompted.
Clay held up the Alexandre Girard identicard, which Halferne had assured him was still valid. The guard scanned it and read the summary that materialized in front of him.
The guard sniffed haughtily. “Procyon, eh? Well, I hope your visit was fruitful.”
“Most certainly,” Clay said, and the guard motioned him through. He did not wait for Halferne, and secretly half-hoped they would still find an excuse to arrest him.
Halferne appeared as if from nowhere next to him again. “Seems Mother Eye is as reliable as ever today.”
“It seems to me you do a little bit more than simply collect information, sir,” Clay said accusingly. “I still don’t understand. If you can do all this, why didn’t you just reprogram Mother Eye and undermine Prevo’s censorship campaign?”
“Reprogram?” Halferne seemed genuinely confused. “I wasn’t on Notosia to start an art movement, Mr. Clay. I was trying to prevent the destruction of the human race.”
“Now that I know Division didn’t send me, is this elite transit waiver order even valid?” Clay asked Halferne as they made their way through the concourse, the only calm people amid the rest of the near-panicked travelers.
“Of course it is,” Halferne assured him. “It wouldn’t do me much good if anyone called to verify it, and it turned out to be counterfeit. Your mission would have ended rather ignominiously before it even began.”
“But how did you get it in the first place?”
Halferne waved him off. “The same way your agency gets them: I submitted a cost-benefit report and asked for it. Understandably, the processing SI at Directorate Member Corps is less suspicious than Division 5 field agents.”
“I’m going to stop asking questions. The answers are getting more and more disturbing.”
“I assure you, I’m not an enemy of your government or any government. While they tend to be lapsed in terms of protocol, their secrets are safe.”
They approached a small, recessed room fronted by a large counter. A holo materialized in front of them as soon as they approached within a meter. “Gentlemen, how can I be of service?”
“General Delivery parcel for Mr. Alexandre Girard,” Clay said, holding up his identicard and submitting to a quick sensor scan.
“One second, please,” the holo said, unblinking. An instant later, a drone flew from the adjacent room and deposited a heavy rectangular box on the counter. “If you could confirm receipt of the package, that is all I require.”
Clay nodded and swiped the holo-display, indicating his acceptance. Then, he grabbed the package and motioned Halferne to follow.
They continued down the concourse and took a table at a small café that afforded the most expansive field of vision possible of the concourse. Clay slowly tore away at the package, revealing a thick, hard-bound book. Halferne looked at the cover and its artwork. “I’m quite a fan of Alexandre Dumas, but I’m unfamiliar with that one.” He smiled approvingly.
“It’s local. I’m doing the author a favor and taking it off-world. It’ll give me something to read on the slow starliner back to earth, if nothing else.”
“Still chipping away at oppression every little piece at a time.”
“I’ve lost my taste for rebellions,” Clay grumbled. With his left hand, he extracted the datarod from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the table, covering it with his hand. “Did you really mean what you said about this thing causing a war if someone got their hands on it?”
Halferne scowled and began examining the datarod. “Are you really going to give it to me this time, or are you thinking of double-crossing me again, Mr. Clay?”
Clay moved his hand, allowing Halferne to pick up the datarod and examine it. “You’ll notice it has the holo-embossment from Locke Industries on the side.”
Halferne nodded in agreement. “You still need assurances about me.”
Clay shook his head. “Not at all. After everything I’ve seen, I will take you at your word. You could do far worse damage to my government if you wanted to. It’s just that we’ve been watched very closely since we entered the gate station, and the number of troops around this café has doubled since I pulled that out of my pocket. Got a chess move for this?”
Halferne didn’t draw attention to them by looking around. “I think we’re short too much material.” He opened his jacket, revealing a plaser in a shoulder holster. “We could shoot our way out and make a run for it? At least one of us might escape.”
“I can barely walk, much less run, Halferne,” Clay said, “and how did you get that thing on the shuttle and through station security?”
“Perks of being a high cabinet official,” Halferne said as if it should have been obvious.
Clay stumbled to his feet, holding on to the table for balance, as Hēi Gēzi and a half-dozen Tokusha in tactical suits approached them. She still wore the hood and gaiter to protect her identity, and the katana in her right hand was pointed downward.
Halferne stood as well, obviously frightened but holding his ground. He pulled the plaser from his pocket, lifted the datarod in the other hand, and held it to the end of the discharge barrel. “One step closer, and I’ll destroy it.” Ursza stopped. Cold eyes regarded him from under the hood.
“I thought you might see it my way.” Halferne smiled sarcastically.
“That’s not why you’re alive,” Clay said. “You’re alive because she doesn’t need the datarod. She wants this.” Clay flipped through the book and removed the cipher from between two of the pages where he had stuck it back in the underground market. He held it up between his index and middle finger. Halferne looked at him, but Clay shook his head. “That datarod is an illumination meticulously made by the monks in Harba City. I’m guessing it has a tracker in it, which is what led Prevo to Cerberus to rescue me and how she knew where to find us after I retrieved the cipher.”
“You’re very certain of all that,” Halferne asked cautiously, as if his next actions hinged on Clay’s answer.
Clay nodded. “It’s not the real Keraunos. I saw the monks give that one to her when we fled Harba City. She let me steal it from her on the roof, so I’d leave her behind, and she could keep tabs on me. She’d already hidden the real one in the Well of Fortune. She retrieved it later that night before her Tokusha escorted her back to Prevo.”
Ursza cocked her head and silently regarded Clay.
“I found the lotus,” he said. “So, are you going to kill me for the cipher? You said something about separating my head from my body at one point.”
“I did warn you,” Ursza said, nodding with dead eyes, raising her sword to a ready position.
“You could come with us,” Clay said quickly. “You know you’re as good as dead when Prevo finds out you set up Saleh’s rebellion for him. You resisted him before. You can resist him now.”
Clay saw Ursza flinch for the first time since he left her at the Noto Lib base. For an instant, she looked afraid. “No, I told you, it’s over for me. No more Shard. No more slip-ups. That girl is gone. I’m just Hēi Gēzi now.”
“That girl isn’t some split personality you can just deny exists. She’s you. She’s the real you. The one who studied on Adad and left because she wanted to help people. You’re the imposter.”
Anger returned to Ursza’s voice. “She was weak. She was a victim. They took advantage of her. Tortured her. Used her. Never again.”
“She was noble and honorable. Even after she was converted, she found a way to take a bad situation and do some good with it,” Clay pleaded. “She’s you. Come with us. We can help you.”
Many had tried to leave, Vivaine had told him. They all came back voluntarily because the rest of the world was too gray.
A conflicted look came over Ursza’s face. “She’s nothing like me. She knows ten ways to kill you right now, but she wouldn’t enjoy it.” She closed her eyes as a wave of euphoric ecstasy hit her. “I will.” She smiled wickedly, raised her sword, and charged.
Adrenaline had already kicked in, giving Clay some relief from his pain, but not enough to allow him to maneuver effectively. He pivoted and avoided the blade, grabbing her arm as it passed. Her reflexes were far beyond his, though, and she spun 180 degrees away from him, landing a spinning kick to his head at the end.
He staggered backward. She moved in and reached for the cipher in his hand, but he was quicker, spinning it behind his back and catching it with his other hand. She leaped and tackled him, and Clay was barely able to turn his body enough that he hit the floor on his side rather than his head.
Instantly, the guards moved into the fallen pair, attempting to apprehend Clay and secure the cipher. Ursza rolled on top of him and struck his throat with her right elbow.
The cipher fell from his hand. He rolled onto his side to shake Ursza off of him, kicked out, and tripped one of her guards. Instantly, he pounced and wrestled the plaser from the fallen Tokusha’s hand. Ursza did a forward roll and bounced back to her feet, sword in one hand, cipher in the other. Clay landed on his back, plaser aimed squarely at her head. His hands shook, barely able to support the weight of the gun.
They locked eyes. Hers showed bloodlust, murder, and satisfaction; his, hesitation. They each recognized the other. She looked disappointed as she sheathed the sword.
In his mind, he saw his daughter staring back at him. He fought it, summoning every ounce of strength, and prepared to pull the trigger to end the nightmare. He was pretty sure Halferne was telling the truth. Killing the girl felt wrong, but he knew it was the right thing to do, and he always did the right thing.
Ursza stared him down. “Pull the trigger, then,” she dared him without any hint of fear.
“We can’t let Prevo have Keraunos,” Clay said. “It will mean war on Notosia that will spread through the settled systems.”
She said nothing, her eyes continuing to pierce him more surely than the katana almost had. The guards moved in, weapons aimed directly at him. More troops were piling into the concourse. He’d waited too long. The restaurant was surrounded. Even if he killed her, he would still be dead within seconds, and Prevo would still have the cipher. He knew he still had to try. Maybe if he killed her, he could still get his hands on the cipher and destroy it before they ended him. It was the only play left.
“Ursza, don’t make me do this!” Clay pleaded as she began to walk away. “You know what it is, tell me Halferne’s wrong.”
She thought for a moment. “If I tell you he’s right, could you pull the trigger?”
“Marga and Lars Venter,” Halferne said hastily. Ursza shot him a glare that was half surprise and half anger. “Those were your parents’ names. They abandoned you on Adad. I know everything. You just have to trust me. I can help you. I can break the conditioning and give you your life back.”
Ursza glared at him. “Why do you keep trying to help me?”
“Because I know what you are,” Halferne sighed, “and this isn’t it. Come with us, and I’ll explain everything.”
Ursza looked from Halferne to Clay and back several times. A sinister smile crossed her face as she raised her sword to a ready position.
Clay’s heart sank. His finger tightened on the trigger. “I’m sorry,” he said as he started to squeeze.
“Enough,” Halferne shouted. “Let her have it, Clay. It’s not worth your soul.” He slouched back in his seat, defeated, leaning on the armrest and rubbing his forehead, ignoring his surroundings as if he knew how the rest of the situation would play out.
Ursza and Clay stared at each other, unmoving, until finally Clay powered down the plaser. He now had nothing: not Keraunos, not the cipher, not the girl.
Ursza glared at Halferne. “This isn’t over,” she said, then looked back at Clay. “Go home, hero. I’ll go back to the mud,” she said, then turned and walked away. Her guards followed suit.
© 2024 Darrin Snider. All Rights Reserved.
